


A Million Lights

by auroreanrave



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-04 14:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: Reggie Mantle follows Ethel Muggs' Instagram on a cold wet Tuesday, when neither of them are working on what they should be working on.





	A Million Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. So this is a little something I've been working on as I watch/catch up on the new season of Riverdale. I love Ethel (a lot) and I wanted to write something fun and sweet for her and giving her a romance with the criminally-underrated Reggie Mantle seemed a nice way to go about it. Plus there's a lot of Instagram references for my love of Instagram aesthetic posts on Tumblr, so I hope you enjoy.

Reggie Mantle follows Ethel Muggs' Instagram on a cold wet Tuesday, when neither of them are working on what they should be working on.

It's been ten years since graduation, six years since Ethel shed her old skin behind, clawing her way to New York, to a crappy apartment, and another and another slightly better one, until she has the luxury of sitting and watching the rain pound the glass of her apartment window while working on her next collection of poems.

Escaping Riverdale was a minor miracle in itself, especially after Daddy died (in his sleep, still a soft ache in the cavity near Ethel's heart), but her journey has been a transformation beyond her mother's fervent prayers. Ethel works as a part-time editorial assistant in Manhattan while juggling her own commissions to the tiny publishing house in Queens and organising poetry slams and open mic nights at Red's, a little hole in the wall in Brooklyn.

She's a million miles from the frumpy, awkward girl she once felt clung to the disparate parts of Ethel, anchoring her to mediocrity and fear and loneliness. She's still lonely sometimes, but she has a small group of friends, and New York has enough museums and galleries to keep her occupied.

The little red blip of a notification on her phone stirs her from her reverie.

_reggiemantlepiece is now following you_

Out of curiosity she taps on his icon, a beaming selfie of Reggie in the sunlight, tongue poking out his mouth, mid-wink.

His feed blooms open and she's instantly taken back to walking the halls of Riverdale High and seeing him, resplendent in football jersey, strutting the halls. She's kept up with the handful of acquaintances and friends from high school, but Reggie had slipped under the radar a little.

They had been partners a bunch of times - Mantle and Muggs names so close in a small class that it breeded necessity - and he had never made fun of her, or fallen in with Chuck Clayton and his ilk. Once they had worked on a diorama about the human brain and he had teased her with renaming the wrong parts and when they had got an A, she had found a pack of her favourite blueberry cotton candy taped to the inside of her locker with a smiley face drawn on.

She remembers another memory - a lonely road with someone chasing after her, the Black Hood. Archie and Reggie coming to her rescue. They'd taken her home, but not without a stop to Pop's for a trio of milkshakes (Archie strawberry, Reggie chocolate, Ethel mint chocolate chip) to steady their nerves. Ethel remembers the terror and the safety and remembers Reggie nodding at her when they passed in the halls. Never friends but fleeting allies.

Reggie's Instagram feed is bright and bold and silly. He takes selfies where he pouts like an exaggerated supermodel and poses with oversized bottles of champagne or foam fingers. He has a few sunlit vistas, a Boomerang video or two of some ridiculous stunt, and then the odd promotional photo from his handful of NFL-affiliated sponsorships.

He should, by all accounts, she finds out later, be training, so what he's doing finding her Instagram and deciding to follow it of all things, is a mystery. For now at least.

She clicks on 'Follow Back' before she can overthink her decision, because what harm is a little nostalgia nowadays anyway?

 

* * *

 

 

Ethel Muggs' (@ethelmuggs) Instagram photo - a shifted-focus photo of Ethel's apartment, aglow with fairylights and candles. In the centre of the frame is the large glass window that dominates the apartment, splattered with cold October rain. The caption reads: 'Self care Sunday with the rain. Bliss x.'

A comment on @ethelmuggs' Instagram photo from @reggiemantlepiece: Yo, nice digs, Muggs. We need to catch up!

 

* * *

 

Reggie sends her a private message a week later when she hasn't responded to his comment. She receives it in the middle of proofreading some copy at the digital media firm she's currently assisting at. The piece is entitled "Seven Ways to Embrace and Enhance Your Digital Identity" and Ethel is caught between two stock images of smiling white women as lead image, because her content editor Taryn didn't feel that anyone with skin darker than steamed milk would be a 'good fit for the article'.

The message reads: 'Ethel! Hope you're good. Don't know if you saw my message but I'd love to grab some coffee. Lemme know if you're in.'

At her elbow, her coworker Daneesh spies her on her phone and spots Reggie's little bubble icon. "He's cute," Daneesh says, hand tucking up and under his turban to adjust it slightly. "Who is he?"

Daneesh has no clue about the NFL - he's more of a baseball guy, apparently - and has no idea that Reginald D. Mantle is a running back for the New York Giants and did pop up on a cover of GQ a little while ago (Ethel has been making up for lost time). He does, however, note the same details Ethel has - the fact that Reggie has grown more into his handsome face, that his teenage arrogance has distilled into confidence, and that he seems settled in his own skin.

"Someone I used to know," Ethel replies honestly, tapping out a message and setting up a coffee date for herself and Reggie before Daneesh's eyes.

 

* * *

 

Kings' Coffee is a New York establishment, having debuted in 2015 and quickly established itself as a friendly, unassuming coffee house chain with decently priced coffee, freshly baked pastries, and live events running in the weekday evenings.

The Kings' Coffee in Brooklyn is daubed in navy blue paint and brick, clean lines and chrome details that speak to Ethel's aesthetics too muchly to be entirely healthy. She gets there early, partially out of nerves, and partially out of a desire to sit and enjoy a latte and maybe sketch out a few lines for the trio of poems she's delivering at Red's on Sunday evening.

"Muggs," she hears, ten minutes later, and looks up into Reggie Mantle's smiling face. She rises to her feet to hug him and assesses him; he's broader than he was in high school and his once-floppy hair is now cut down into a neater style. He looks warmer and more solid than she remembers, her faded high school vision a ghost of a man.

They hug and he buys her another latte with his own coffee - something darker and sweeter, with a whiff of raspberry foam - and insists on getting them some pastries. "It's my cheat day, Ethel," Reggie says, picking out a pain au chocolat with open desire, "and there's not enough hours in the day."

They catch up - slowly at first, pleasanties over pastries. The weather, the city, the old gang. They trade updates on classmates - Archie's second solo album, Josie's tour, Veronica's business empire. They discuss Betty's latest article for the New York Times, and Jughead's Netflix documentary.

"I was sorry to hear about your dad," Reggie says, an hour in. "I never knew him, but... he meant a lot to you."

"He did. Thanks," she says, and Ethel nudges him.

"Not to get all heavy, but... I'm sorry we weren't better friends in high school," Reggie says, eyes on the remains of his muffin.

"It's fine. Really. In high school... God everything was a little dramatic, wasn't it? No one was amazing."

Reggie's smile is warm and inviting, a smirk that invites you to the joke, rather being part of it. "Well we've got now." They clink mugs and laugh.

 

* * *

 

A photograph on Reggie Mantle's Instagram of he and Ethel Muggs, heads leaned together for the selfie. Both smile broadly, the hanging spotlights of Kings' Coffee reflecting and making everything a little luminous. Ethel's hair is auburn and loose about her shoulders and her spare hand rests on Reggie's shoulder.

The caption reads: 'Catching up with old friends over good coffee. Even ya boy knows how to behave sometimes. @ethelmuggs @kingsofcoffee'.

A string of comments below:

@archieandrews So long since I've seen you guys! How's New York?

@bettycooperreal Guys! This photo is so cute. xxx

@veronicalodge Totes adorable. You both need to come see me ASAP. You better have been a gentleman @reggiemantlepiece

@kingjughead Surprised you have time for coffee, Reggie, given Sunday's performance.

@cherylthebeauty Not bad.

@kevinkeller *heart eyes emoji*

@ethelmuggs He was okay, @veronicalodge @reggiemantlepiece

@reggiemantlepiece Last time I buy you an almond croissant @ethelmuggs *crying tears of laughter emoji*

 

* * *

 

They keep up a steady stream of chats from then on. She follows Reggie's Instagram stories and refuses to befriend him on or even download Snapchat, so he settles for sending her each photo or video he deems appropriate. Ethel sets an alert on her Google reports to send her the latest Giants scores when she's busy writing or calling her mother on Sunday afternoons and Reggie sends her emoji critiques of the poems she deigns to send over to him. They trade articles and stories, on Cheryl's beauty line, on Kevin's next off-Broadway production, on Moose's wedding.

One day, she's stood inside the Met on a quiet sunny autumn afternoon, digging around in the voluminous pockets of her favourite purple coat for her earbuds, when a pair of warm, callused hands cover her eyes, and a voice says, "Guess?"

"Well if this isn't the curator, I'll be very disappointed," Ethel says, and peels Reggie's hands away. He's dressed down in sweats and a hoodie, looking as if he was mid-run when he decided to detour into the museum.

"I saw you on the sidewalk. Just finished a run, figured I'd come and say hi," he says, and Ethel almost leans in to hug him, but then she realises that he's sweaty and a little gross.

"I know," he says, reading her mind a little, "but my place is close by, so if you can imagine not to get swept up in the paintings, I'll be back in twenty?"

"I'll try," Ethel says magnaminously, grinning, "but I see one marble status hotter than you and I'm gone."

Reggie's smile is a flash of light that splits his face, and he gives her a quick salute before jogging away. Ethel sits down on one of the benches and extricates her earbuds, because Reggie Mantle or no Reggie Mantle, she has time to kill and some WNYC podcasts to catch upon.

Midway through a transgender pregnancy special on 'The Longest Shortest Time', Reggie reappears. His hair is wild and wet, and he's upgraded to a pair of track pants and a tee shirt that reads 'House Targaryen' on it, but it's still infinitely better than sweat, so Ethel grins and accepts his proferred arm to enter the museum proper.

 

* * *

 

Over time, they form a friendship that is immeasurable in benefits. They start attending the other's work commitments when they're available. Reggie is her plus one to the latest Adriana Carrington book launch, charming the guests and forming such instant friendships with the waitstaff that he procures two Five Guys burgers and fries for he and Ethel within forty minutes of arriving. Ethel is his plus one to the Giants' home games; Reggie buys her a ridiculous beanie which she wears proudly and cheers at the touchdowns with the players' significant others.

Art galleries and book launches, football games and coffee shops. It's the most rewarding friendship Ethel's ever had, even if it has an occasional downside, such as being speculated upon by online tabloids.

'REGGIE'S MYSTERY GIRL STEPS OUT FOR POST GIANTS GAME DINNER' is the latest headline she sees upon opening Daneesh's email. The accompanying photo shows her leaving Reggie's favourite Ethiopian restaurant, her hair wild from the wind, and holding onto Reggie's jacketed shoulder after the game (25-10 victory and warm delicious injera the size of her head, what's not to like?).

She rolls her eyes at her desk and looks over at him. "You're not subtle." She switches back to the copy she's editing. Seriously, how can someone with an MFA not spell 'adolescent' and 'effervescent', even with access to the internet. She worries for the future.

Daneesh, to his credit, shrugs. "No. Never claimed to be. But we're missing the point, the point of which is, are you dating Reggie Mantle and if so, can he hook me up with any out Giants players?"

"I am not - there's several things wrong with that sentence," Ethel sputters, "first of which is that we're not dating. We're literally just friends."

The look Daneesh gives her is thoroughly unimpressed. "Uh huh. Because friends spend that much time together. My sister's my best friend and we don't spend that much time together."

"That's because Amanita is an angel who gives me cake and you give me nothing," Ethel says loftily, swinging back around in her chair to get back to her work. "And secondly," she swings around to see him, "maybe. You have to work your way up to professional athlete," and swings back.

She only hears Daneesh's laughter, not the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that she knows will be there at her deliberately haughty tone, and resolves to ignore the growing suspicion in her stomach that she and Reggie Mantle have been platonically dating for months.

 

* * *

 

 

A week later, Reggie invites her formally over to his apartment. They've been serious friends - as serious as emojis and coffee art and taking deliberately ugly selfies to make each other snort with laughter can be - for four months and yet neither of them has visited the other's place before.

Ethel likes her space, likes her little reading nook and the way rain hits the windows in the middle of thunderstorms and the way her kitchen window catches the smells of the other apartments, lavender and curry and chai and woodsmoke. She's protective of it; she doesn't want Reggie, even unconsciously, comparing it unfavourably to his own more lavish apartment.

She arrives at his place on a Friday night, when her poetry group has wrapped up, armed with a bottle of wine and shwarma takeout in a plastic bag swinging from her wrist. She's long since learned Reggie's specific orders (she may have a growing note for them saved on her phone, for ease of use), and when they'd brought up dinner, she'd suggested it as one of Reg's favourites.

Reggie opens the door and flings it wider, grin in place. "Muggs! Ready to see mi casa?"

"Sure, Reg," she says, stepping inside. The apartment is an entire floor, awash with exposed brick and crimson panels, modern coffee tables bracketing off the various areas of the open-plan design (kitchen, living room, hallway, games centre) with doors for his bedroom and bathroom. It's sleek and slick, an apartment out of GQ or out of a fifteen year old's fantasy future home.

It isn't until she peels her peacoat away, damp from the light September rain, and hangs it up that she finds more human touches scattered throughout the apartment. An old Riverdale Bulldogs sweatshirt on the back of a chair, a stack of National Geographics and ESPN magazines on the corner of a coffee table, framed photos of his mom and dad, his teammates, his college graduation. It's like seeing a snapshot of his life she couldn't gain from any Instagram feed, but only by being part of his life.

"Nice place, Reg," she says, handing over the steaming bag of takeout. They divvy up forks and foil packages, full of freshly baked naan or flatbreads, chicken or lamb shawarma, and tabbouleh that Reggie would sell his grandmother for.

"No way," Ethel says around a mouthful of chicken shawarma and naan, "your grandmother is awesome." Diane Mantle is ninety four years old, a card shark at the retirement home Ethel's mom works at, and hasn't slowed down at all since retiring.

"You don't know how good the tabbouleh is," Reggie insists, spooning some up onto a piece of naan and handing it over to her. Their fingers brush and Ethel focuses very hard on the flavours in her mouth, not the spark-hot touch of fingers. Mint. Garlic. Tomatoes.

They eat without finesse or grace, spoons and a couch in lieu of a dining table, the sounds of sitcoms in the background. Reggie catches her mid-mouthful and pops it on his Instagram and she throws a lump of naan at him which he, annoyingly, catches in his mouth and chews with a smug smile.

Afterwards, they're next to each other on the couch. Ethel has peeled off her sweater for the tee shirt underneath and Reggie keeps leaning forward to pick at some of the remains of the shawarma, revealing the warm skin at the bottom of his back where his own shirt keeps riding up.

Ethel thinks too much and feels too much, a maelstrom inside of her rushing to get out. She's on the edge of a precipice. Reggie is her best friend, someone she can rely on and talk about anything to, and she doesn't - she can't lose this.

"Whoa, Ethel. What's wrong?" Reggie is looking over at her and angling towards her. He looks so concerned, so worried.

"What are we, Reg?" Ethel asks. The words bubble right out of her, as impossible to prevent as a lightning strike.

"Um... friends? I mean - " Reggie says.

"No, I mean... we hang out all the time. We're each others plus ones, we spend more time with each other than anyone else. And I..." Ethel's words burn out of her throat.

Reggie presses his forehead to hers. When he speaks, he sounds raw, overwhelmed. "Muggs. I... I know..."

Ethel Muggs takes a deep breath.

She leans forward and kisses him.

For a full three seconds, he doesn't respond, and Ethel's world drops out of her stomach into her shoes, because Reg is her friend, and she just - just presumed that - and she's ruined it -

And then Reggie surges into the kiss, curling a hand into Ethel's sweater and placing another against the column of her neck. She feels fever hot and bright, incandescent with desire that she hasn't felt for a long time.

Ethel's kissed her fair share of people - five boys, one in senior year of high school, two in college, one on a blind date, and one more at a freelance writing gig, and two girls, both in college - but this kiss knocks the others clean out of the water.

They break apart a moment later, warm and soft and eyes bright.

"I was going to do a whole thing," Reggie says, eyes wide and mouth a shade of red Ethel could write sonnets about. "I - you really messed up my plan here, Muggs." He laughs and grins, shining star bright.

Ethel grins into the crook of Reggie's mouth, says "Oh come on, Reg," and kisses him again.

In the morning, Ethel finds two bags of blueberry cotton candy on the dining table with smiley faces daubed on them. She feels a bone-deep lightness in her step and makes her way over to where Reggie is preparing breakfast. She presses a kiss to the middle of his back before he finishes off the bacon and eggs and she brews the coffee.

 

* * *

 

 

Three years, four months, eighteen days later. An Instagram post on the feed of Reggie Mantle (@reggiemantlepiece). It shows the smiling faces of he and Ms Ethel Muggs-Mantle (@ethelmuggsmantle), foreheads touching, lights aglow, as they finish their wedding vows. They look radiant.

The caption reads, 'Because I couldn't go on another adventure without you. Happiest day of my life'.

Buried underneath the avalanche of comments are a select few:

@veronicalodge So beautiful! I cried my eyes out watching you two. Love you.

@kingjughead Great photo, guys, and even better cake. Can you do this monthly?

@bettycooperreal You're too adorable. Coffee when you're back from honeymoon. xxx

@josie I'll always dedicate 'Yours to Mine' to you guys now. Love and light.

@kevinkeller Awww shucks. My heart just grew three sizes. *heart eyes emoji* x

@cherylthebeauty And now I'm a sap. Thanks guys.

@archieandrews Speechless with happiness, guys. Group dinner group chat is happening.

And reading the comments from the rumpled bed of their private island resort, happier than he could ever have considered possible, Reggie Mantle grins, as his wife, beaming and bright, says "Come back to bed, Reg," and all he is capable of doing is saying "Yes, dear," and doing just that.


End file.
